The Midnight Baker

I was once nicknamed
The Midnight Baker
for obvious reasons.

An unpredictable, sticky urge
to beat and whip and craft
and blast in heat
which occurred only in the mild oven
of the student summer’s twilight
was a peculiar affliction
but one which benefitted
the siblings I never had.

On the stroke of the new day
with the warm embrace of baking smells
wafting through the hallway
and climbing the roughly carpeted stairs
with trepidation
I would whip the treats from the oven
to be devoured immediately
while the small hours devoured us.

Now I bake during daylight hours;
midnight belongs to closeness,
to different smells,
to warmer and longer embraces.

Midnight belongs to love, and to snoring.